Losing Control
by No Illusions
Summary: Didn't they realize how easy it would be for him to lose control? To hurt them? Eliot/Parker friendship.


**A/N: Just a little fic about Eliot and Parker. A bit angsty at first. Rated for mild language and suggested violence.  
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**Disclaimer: I do not own Leverage or its characters.  
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><p>Didn't they realize how damn <em>dangerous<em> he was? Sophie, curled up on the couch with a bowl of popcorn, trying to explain the film they were watching to Parker. Parker, sprawled on the floor below Sophie, periodically stealing the grifter's popcorn, staring at the screen with the look of intense concentration that Eliot knew was on her face. Hardison, who was pretending indifference from his armchair, but still staring intently at the screen for extended periods of time. Nate, on the couch with Sophie, not bothering to hide his enjoyment of the old British romance she'd picked out.

Nate. Nate might understand. But the others… They had no _idea _how hard it had been for him not to kill those guys earlier, when, from down the hallway, he'd watched them grab Parker from behind, pulling on her hair, eliciting from her a startled cry. He'd been there in three seconds, Parker had been fine, and the job had gone on. But the thought still made him tense up, still brought a rush of adrenaline into his system, still made him clench his hands on the edge of the counter that he was leaning against. He was in the kitchen area of Nate's apartment, the team in front of him, facing the screen, their backs to him.

Did they not realize how _stupid _they were to turn away from him for even a minute? How easy it would be to take the few strides that would bring him close enough… He could snap Nate's neck in a moment, before the others even realized what was going on. He could slit Sophie's throat with one of the many knives he kept on his person at all times. She would fall forward, pinning down Parker for the split second it would take for Eliot to throw a jab at Hardison's neck, crushing his windpipe. Parker would struggle, but she was so small… he could crush her with his bare hands if he chose.

It would be so easy… Their backs were turned, they were unaware—didn't they know that he could kill them all in less than ten seconds? Eliot was nearly shaking as the sheer, raw _power _coursed through his veins. Hell, at this moment he didn't need a knife or well-timed jabs. He could break them; snap them all as easily as he could snap Parker. The strength in his veins made him want to move, to run, to fight, to _kill_. And there they were…the four of them, sitting there unaware…

Eliot jerked himself back—he hadn't even noticed the instinctive step he'd taken towards the team. A moment later, he was out the door, in the hallway outside of Nate's apartment, then downstairs and onto the deserted streets of Boston. He didn't know what time it was—some odd hour of the morning, no doubt. The cool air felt good on his skin, and he moved swiftly down the streets, breathing in the sharp, fresh air. He didn't notice that he was shaking, or that his movements were so powerful as to be nearly jerky. The aura of sheer _danger _that surrounded him would have frightened away anyone—were they there to be frightened. But the streets were empty.

What Eliot wanted, what he really _really _wanted at that moment was to hit someone. To just… hit, and not think about consequences or control or the team, but to just hit and probably kill but it wouldn't matter as his kicks and punches collided with the soft body of his victim. And suddenly, there was someone there.

Eliot's body reacted before his mind, and he swung out before he registered what his eyes were telling him. When he did, he had to jerk back in order to stop the jab he'd thrown. Then he growled at the blonde thief in front of him, striding forward and brushing past her without a word, unable to look her in the eyes. He'd almost attacked Parker. He could have killed her. When he felt her feather light touch on his shoulder, he froze, locking his joints in place to prevent himself from reacting instinctively again. Then Parker was by his side, and he began walking again when he was sure he had control of himself. She matched his strides, apparently unfazed by his attack.

"I'm hungry," she said after a moment.

"Then go eat something," Eliot growled, still staring straight ahead.

"No, Eliot." Parker's voice was impatient. "I'm _hungry_. Like, for real food. For _Eliot _food." Eliot wasn't entirely sure what to say to that, so he simply kept walking. After a moment, Parker went on, as though explaining something obvious to a young child. "That means that you have to come back to Nate's. So that you can cook me food."

He turned to look at her. "I'm busy," he growled.

"Doing what?"

"Thinkin'."

"You're thinking about punching people." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah, Parker," he growled. "I'm thinkin' about punching people."

"I could tell. You tried to punch me." She said it like it was the most normal thing in the world to try to punch your teammates. "You can punch people after you cook for me. I'll even help you find people to punch," she offered earnestly.

Eliot rolled his eyes. "There's somethin' wrong with you," he told her. But, really, he appreciated the offer—not that he would take her up on it, but still.

"Does that mean you'll come back to Nate's?"

Eliot's first instinct was to say no. In his current mood, being around people was _not _a good idea. Not people he cared for, at least. But then he noticed that the power that had been coursing through his veins moments before was gone. Sure, he'd still love to punch somebody. But he wouldn't. He could control the urge. He stopped walking and turned to Parker. She just looked at him, her eyes wide and expectant.

"Fine," he growled at her. But it wasn't an angry growl.

She smiled radiantly at him.

"Come on," she said, grabbing for his hand. "Let's take the roofs."

"Parker," Eliot began, "I'm not—I don't—normal people don't—I'm not goin' on the—how do ya even get _up _there?" he finally managed, looking around at the area of the city they were in, where all the buildings were at least ten stories tall.

She looked at him like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "How do you think I got down?" She turned and started walking back the way they'd come, and in about two blocks—looking around, Eliot didn't remember having been there for a month or so, even though he had been only a few minutes before—she stopped, pointing happily at a black rope that trailed to the ground from the roof of a building. "I've rigged nearly the entire city," she told him happily. "Well, at least the tall parts. Short buildings are no fun."

He looked at her for a moment. "Parker, you do realize that people are gonna notice, right?"

"Well, _yeah_." She rolled her eyes. "That's the fun of it."

Eliot started walking farther down the street, back towards Nate's.

"Eliot!" Parker called after him.

"Well, you comin'?" he asked, not turning around.

"But _Eliot_!" Eliot didn't slow his pace.

Behind him, Parker pouted as she gave the rope a solid yank and the mechanical mechanism kicked in, pulling the rope up the side of the building without her. In a minute, she had joined Eliot by his side.

They walked in silence for a few moments, before she turned to him. "So, are you still thinking about punching people?" she asked.

"No, Parker, I'm not," he told her, surprised to find that he really wasn't. When had that happened? The anger, the need to injure was… gone.

"I didn't think so," she said serenely. "You look like you're thinking about cooking."

And he was.

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><p><strong>Please review!<strong>


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